Bwyd
by ko-writes
Summary: Wales has issues. France has his heart. Russia has his body. Estonia wants both. He wants neither. TW: Eating Disorder, Dissociation, Depression, Self Harm, BDSM. Wales x France, Wales x Russia, Wales x Estonia.
1. Hudo

Wales was beautifully slim, with golden hair that framed his youthful face and a wonderfully compact stature. He had the charm and sophistication to make anyone fall for him, to turn them into putty in his hands so that he could mould them as he saw fit.

He could even enthral the whorish France with his divinely petite figure, with snappable wrists and a tiny waist. Just a flash of wickedly protruding collarbone and the Frenchman was on his knees and _begging_.

Yes. Thin, tiny, weightless, witty; it was all his.

In his imagination.

In reality, he was standing in front of the other nations of the world for the first time, wearing a second-hand suit from the charity shop that Mrs Williams down the street had helped him take in. The jacket's shoulders were too wide, falling part-way down is bone thin upper arm than where they were supposed to be, and the trousers bunched awkwardly at his waist from the belt he had to punch holes in.

It was embarrassing. He felt like a child playing dress-up with their father's clothes, rather than the nation he was.

"Nice to meet you all," He smiled, a little too crooked and a little too forced, "My name is Cy… Wales. My name is Wales. I hope we'll work well together."

He could hear them murmuring as he took his seat once more, but tried not to listen to intently; ignorance was bliss, as he should know, being so writhe with it. After all, if he hadn't of been so ignorant he would be a _proper country_.

"Dude, are we going to listen to Sealand mark two?" America snorted, "What kind of country's named after a fish, anyway."

Well. That hurt.

"He's a real country, Amérique," France sighed, leaning back in his chair in that certain way that he thought made him look cool.

And that made Wales' heart ache, even after all those years.

"Then how come I've never heard of him," America continued.

Just tear out my heart, little brother; it would hurt less.

"That would be the annexation and dear big brother's tendency to ignore anything that doesn't please him," He muttered, maybe a little too loud, but waved it away, "We should continue this meeting, shouldn't we?"

Just move on, it's not like I'm interesting or important enough to warrant the attention anyway.

 **A/N:**

 **Bwyd - Food**

 **Hudo - Enchant**

 **This was just the introduction; with any luck, the chapters should be a lot longer from here.**


	2. Ddawnsio

When Russia saw that skinny boy with blond hair, his interest was piqued. He was such a small thing, only a few inches taller than Latvia, and thinner than the models in France's magazines; he doesn't know his "human age", but he would like him to be over seventeen, just in case fantasising turns into something more.

He absently wonders what having sex with someone that tiny – in all senses – would be like, but almost grimaces at how paedophilic that sounds. Again, he hopes he's over seventeen for his own selfish reasons.

The expression in the blond's eyes is partially doe-eyed, and partially bored. It's almost as if it's purposeful, however, and he can't quite explain it; like the curve of the boy's lips that seems kind but feels off, like his own constant smile. He feels like there's a story behind it, something similar to his own damage, but knows he'd have to get close to him to ask something so personal.

"Nice to meet you all," The boy greets, sugar and honey in his voice but nothing that's sanguine, "My name is Cy… Wales. My name is Wales. I hope we'll work well together."

He notices the stumble, as he's sure everyone else does as it wasn't subtle, and wonders what he would have said; it was probably just his name in his own language, if he has one, but he doesn't know. The smile on Wales' lips is crooked, and it would be very endearing if he were completely sure it was real – which he isn't. He's not saying the man he's just met – not even met, really – is a liar, but nothing feels completely real and genuine.

America says something idiotic, but he blocks it out as he does with everything America says, but he sees Wales' eyes – which remind him of sunny country fields that he sees in photographs – switch from soft and sweet to sharp and analytical, which honestly feels more genuine than the "sweet" mask he managed to paste on his face, and even his eyes. The boy mumbles something, but he can't quite catch it, and it passes in the blink of an eye; the sweetness is back and he suggests they move on with the meeting, promptly evading questioning looks from nations sat closer to him.

Russia thinks that he'd only evade once, play the game safely, and indulge the other nations who have only just met him; despite it being 1999 and unusual to add anyone this late in their lives. However, Wales converses with people like he's making his words dance, focusing most of his attention on stroking the others' ego and getting away with giving very little of his own opinions and statistics. It's very impressive and he can almost see the dancer that is Wales' speech twirl and pirouette throughout the room like a star, while lingering very little around himself and moving their arms with the gracefulness of a swan to distract from whatever it is he wants to distract from.

Russia, despite sensing something from the small nation, has no idea what that could be, however. It could be anything, even the entirety of Wales himself; he's seen Lithuania employ the same tactics around himself.

After the meeting, the others sing praises of what a sweet and polite boy Wales is; not to mention pretty, even if he is waif to the point that it's almost terrifying to look at.

All he can see is a boy – maybe a man, if he could judge by that sharp gaze – who has something to hide, and the thought excites him more than a lot of things have in the past few decades. Wales was going to be interesting.

 **A/N: Ddawnsio - Dance**


End file.
